Working a Strut
by Niji Hitomi Kabra
Summary: Our favorite strawberry's dressed to kill, with a message to send. M for cross-dressing.


Click. Clack. Click. Clack. A perfect rhythm echoed through the stone paved streets of the Seireitei. All over Shinigami stopped what they were doing, dropping their Zanpakutou to point at the ground rather than their opponents, medics from the Fourth popped up from the sewers, unseated officers lost their grips on papers, mops, trays of tea cups, etc… Murmured whispers of appreciation and jealousy followed the percussive rhythm struck by a pair of 4" calf-high patent black leather boots. The legs attached to those boots were covered by sheer mini-fish-net stockings with bright turquoise peek-a-boo laces running up the back into a pair of black boy-shorts so tight they looked painted on. The waist band just barely came over the person's hips, dipping in the front to be almost vulgar. This was followed by a trim, athletic stomach, that drew in the eye thanks to a gemstone encrusted butterfly hanging from the navel. One hand was placed on one of those barely covered hips, accentuating their sway with every step. The other swung back and forth, manicured nails flashing up to the sun, and palm pressed toward the ground to keep the elbow locked. Slightly belled sleeves in white and trimmed with turquoise corset style ribbons covered toned arms, but stopped before covering narrow shoulders. The body of the shirt itself only just barely reached the person's ribs, flashing collar bones above the scooped neck line. The finely sculpted neck was graced with a black leather collar, a single charm dangled from the front in turquoise gemstones: 6. The person's hair was spikey in the front, but pulled back into a low tail that reached the bottom of the skimpy shirt. Both ears were pierced several times, the lobes dangled matching "6"s and a cuff on each shell in silver to stand out against the almost tan of the person's skin. As the person walked past, destination firmly in mind, a smirk flashed pearly teeth that were just this side of sharp, and entertainment danced in the person's eyes.

'They were right, this is liberating,' the person thought just barely holding in a laugh as Abarai Renji, Sixth Division Fukutaicho came around the corner and promptly lost his grip on the stack of tidy paperwork that had to have taken him hours to complete. His wedding ring glinted in the sun light as he tried to catch some of the surely vital pieces of paper. The person moved on, still holding in the bubble of laughter, ignoring the fact that Renji had to hold his nose.

Matsumoto huffed, arms crossed under her ample bosom. Liberation, and relaxation was one thing, but flaunting that perfect body where the entire Seireitei could be distracted from HER? That just wasn't fair! She sniffed, tossing her blonde waves over her shoulder and refusing to watch her on-again-off-again boyfriend trip over his feet almost slamming his explosive arm band into the wall. 'Would serve him right if it exploded in his face,' she thought. Of course, if she even thought she had a chance to catch Perfection's attention she wouldn't be anywhere near as bitter, but years of trying, flaunting her own assets in the person's face, had given her a clue and this statement, though she'd helped to arrange it, just cemented the fact that a snowball would have a better chance at courting a bonfire.

A chill fell across the person's shoulders passing the Tenth, and the smirk grew wider when the sound of a clattering sword cut through the tension. There was sputtering and several rounds of cursing, but the person was already walking past before anything coherent could be spoken. A toss of the person's hair was the only sign that the language had been heard at all.

Of course after the Tenth came the Eleventh, and a crash muffled curse brought the attention of Kenpachi. Ikkaku was all arms and legs as he stared blatantly at the person's behind. Yumichika had his arms crossed but couldn't decide if he should be irritated at his long-time partner for staring or proud that the tips he'd given to Perfection had been used so well. He knew about the cluster of others very much like himself in the Living World that had contributed to Perfection's clothing and that strut was must definitely his! So he simply sighed, let the other meat heads around him decide whether it was desire for the person or desire to be the person.

"Madarame! What the f—?" Kenpachi glared, then caught the head tilt, wink and hip sway as the person left his vision. His revealed eye widened, "Did that really say 'Love is a hole in the heart' across the back?"

"Yup." The bubblegum-head pounced his shoulder with a self-satisfied smile.

"What did you do, Yachiru?" Kenpachi glared at her out of the corner of his eye.

She flashed him her most winning smile. "Who Ken-chan? Me?" To which the behemoth merely rolled his visible eye.

Having passed most of the divisions on the way to Perfection's destination, the person sighed at the thought that play time was almost over. The First Division entrance was no less dramatic than the entire walk from the Senkaimon, but most of the Shinigami here were older, visibly showing their ages, and as such were more concerned by the appearance of so much skin than the subject of everyone's scrutiny. As it was the First Division Fukutaicho barely had enough time to gather his thoughts together before stepping in the way.

"Y-you can't go in there unannounced!" He stammered trying very hard to not trace the lines of gently sculpted abdomen, but was caught by the slight curve of lips entirely too pouty and eyes entirely too flirty to belong to that face.

For the first time since stepping through the gate, Perfection spoke, "Oh, but I am announced. Jii-san knows I'm coming. He asked for me by name." Not waiting for an answer, one of those manicured hands pushed the door behind Sasakibe open and brushed past with a gentle hip bump just to knock the stoic Fukutaicho off of his game.

The old man was seated behind his desk within his spacious office. He blinked a few times at the person standing in front of him. He was having a heart attack, he was sure! There could be no way in any of the three worlds that his son had allowed this…vulgar display of sexuality to leave his home, let alone the Living World!

"Ex-explain yourself right now!" He sputtered, his eyes open as wide as had been seen in centuries.

"Well, my group and I figured we couldn't get your attention if I didn't do something dramatic. So, here I am, at your request, to discuss the treaty." The person smirked, both hands on those sinful hips. "Is there a problem, Jii-san?"

Yamamoto sputtered again, trying very hard to not flush with embarrassment. NO ONE had been able to bring color to his cheeks in almost a millennia, and he wasn't about to let a display like this shake his infallible foundation, even if he was related to the person. "I trust that there are things you wish to discuss? Considering this bold, and," He cleared his throat, "vibrant display?"

"Definitely!" The person took the last few strides across the office and deliberately sat on the desk, crossing the mile-long legs at the knee. This made the old man sit back a few feet, and lock his tired eyes on the fiery gaze bearing down on him. The person began, "First, undue persecution of half-Hollows is unacceptable. You've already accepted the Visoreds into Soul Society, you need to allow the remaining Espada access to the Living World." A delicate hand forestalled the beginnings of the argument. "Nothing in the Living World is of any interest to them food wise. Do you really think the average Human soul has enough reiatsu to even count as a snack to someone even as low down the ranks as Szayel? Other than a select few, Humans don't even have enough reiatsu to see the Espada, let alone be affected by them. Secondly, Urahara is working on a new style of gigai that will convert Soul Hunger into real hunger. As soon as the process is perfected those who are half-Shinigami will be able to take a gigai and walk among Humans the same way Shinigami do. Finally, there is no need for the Soul Society to have a constant presence in Hueco Mundo if Los Noches doesn't have a constant presence here." The person paused, thinking for a moment with a finger against those all-too-pouty lips. "Actually that would work out better. I will have to discuss it further with the king but I'm sure Ulquiorra would be happy to act as an ambassador." Another pause for contemplation, but not enough for Yamamoto to interject anything, "Perhaps Hanataro? He's been there before, and the Espada know him to be a healer. The only possibility of threat would come during mating season, but then Ulquiorra would have to return to Hueco Mundo for that anyway."

Yamamoto cleared his throat again, sensing that the person was trailing off into speaking thoughts aloud instead of actual conversation. "You have some very high demands. Is there anything ELSE you'd like to add?"

The person looked shocked for a moment, eyebrows drawing together for a signature scowl before remembering the image that was trying to be projected. So Perfection scoffed. "Only one thing," Leaning forward the person pushed a finger into the Sotaicho's face, nearly touching his nose, "since there will be more half-Hollows in the near future, we demand that these terms be accepted as is." The 'or else' hung in the air like a weight.

Gold flashed in the all-too-flirty eyes, and Yamamoto was reminded of why this person had been chosen as representative; not just for the half-Hollows, Visored and Espada alike, but also for the Soul Society. If anyone could shake a room to its core and bring out the best in the most dire of situations it was this person. Charisma dripping from every pore of the person's skin. Every action cut through out-dated convention like a well-sharpened cleaver. No wonder the newly appointed King of Los Noches had claimed the person. And if there was one thing the Soul Society had learned in dealing with Aizen, charisma was dangerous. This person could easily accomplish what Aizen had failed to do, and with less effort.

Seeming to read his mind, the person spoke up again, "And don't you forget it." Perfection hopped off the desk, stiletto heels clacking on the wooden floor.

As the person sauntered out of his office, Yamamoto allowed himself to close his eyes, brow furrowing and the weight of a headache pressing against his temples. He pulled the draft of the treaty he had been reading before being interrupted and quickly made the notes and changes brought to his attention by Perfection. He sighed deeply, signing his name and rank to the bottom. Only then did he deign to run a hand over his head. This was one hell of a morning.


End file.
